


A Bad Bargain Bettered by Blissful Buggery

by Predatrix



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, Good Sex, Healing Sex, M/M, Rimming, Sexual Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 09:26:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5158637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Predatrix/pseuds/Predatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a bit unusual for one of mine, if recognisable. I warned for non-con or dub-con because I'm using a fantasy trope (human wants to but can't get out of something he promised to a fairy) in a sexual context. In real life, consent can be revoked, but in fairy tales even the unfairest bargains stand. If this sort of unwilling sex plot is triggering for you, please leave it (or just read the second chapter). </p>
<p>The Sexual Horror tag is not for particular acts but an attempt to imagine sex with a being who seems unnatural, inhuman, <i>wrong.</i> This is all in the first chapter. </p>
<p>Then (this <i>is</i> one of my stories) things get a lot better. This is all in the second chapter. </p>
<p>This was intended as a kinkmeme fill for a "trashy" anon who said after seeing the Gentleman get all up in Mr Norrell's personal space they wanted to see him do so in a more intimate context. They also wanted him forcing Norrell to an unwilling orgasm, but that didn't make the cut (sorry). The weird unpleasant sex is in, though. </p>
<p>It's AU in the "weak" or "branching" sense (as opposed to the "strong" or "coffee-shop"/"Hogwarts" sense) but the plot/AU bit is a fairly minor part of the story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Dance without Steps

"Who are you? Who did you learn from?" said the Gentleman.

"I am the Greatest Magician of the Age, sir!" he flashed, with all the spirit he could muster...slightly diminished by "and I learned from books."

"You should learn from the rivers, the trees and the skies," said the Fairy, making him shiver. He had not much inquired into such things since his doomed quest for the Raven King as a young man. Natural magic seemed so much less bound by rules and laws than natural philosophy, and besides often (in England) threatened to make him cold and wet. 

"And," purred the creature, low in his throat, "you should learn from your fellow-man." He tilted Mr Norrell's face upward with one large hand. 

"From other magicians, sir?"

The Gentleman looked at him. "Perhaps. Are you an innocent, little magician?"

"That is a very personal question, sir!" Personal, and intrusive, but in the secret depths of his (well, certainly not heart!) perhaps not entirely unwelcome. 

He knew he had always wanted men, for what it was worth. It was not as though the lively company his uncle had troubled him by inviting had been to his taste. He had always known he was a disappointment and always known his uncle meant well; they were simply too different to understand each other. Eventually his uncle became ill, and chafed under it. It had been a guilty relief when his uncle died. 

The closest he'd come to acting on his desires (the closest he'd come to anybody) had been Childermass, of course. But he hadn't known how to ask, or how to tell if Childermass's desires ran in a similar direction, and eventually it passed off, or he assumed it had because he became more at ease in Childermass's company. 

He had not expected the first approach to come from a male, but not a man. Not a Christian man, at any rate. 

The Gentleman tipped up his wig and tugged at his short hair, then inspected him very closely all round as if he were a dubious farmyard animal the Gentleman was considering for purchase, then (as Mr Norrell became a little embarrassed by his increasing erection) fingered the front of his breeches and outlined his member with a rather frighteningly sharp talon. It should have put him off. He definitely didn't want to be clawed. But for once danger wasn't having its accustomed effect on him. He could only blame desperation; the thought that if this was the only approach he'd ever have he wanted it. And to be quite honest the Gentleman was by no means ill-fashioned and his clothes did nothing to conceal that. 

"Such a small creature you are," the Gentleman purred in that gravelly, unnatural voice, "so afraid and yet such a wanton. Christians burn so hot for us, even though they know we will leave them only ashes behind."

And he knew the Gentleman spoke truth. Nothing good could come of this. The...well, _least worst_ outcome would be the very best pleasures imaginable, followed by the slow diminishing fall of the knowledge that nothing in the mortal world could ever match it, and a despairing attempt to fill his life with what had previously proved sufficient. If he was unlucky, of course, the Fairy could keep coming back, corrupting him slowly with further offers he would be powerless to resist, and asking him to do more and more evil each time. And even knowing that, he could not stop the desire.

"Please..." He swallowed. He did not know what to ask. It seemed wrong to cease what he was trying to do and take time for the Gentleman to come to his bed, yet the thought of doing it in front of Emma Wintertowne's _corpse_ made his flesh creep. He managed to stumble through an explanation of this, hoping that the Gentleman would not make him pay for it somehow. 

The Gentleman arched one of his strange eyebrows. "Be at ease, little magician. I am not so heartless as to force you to make such a choice. I shall show you a spell in one of your little books to make you come to my brugh, and on my honour I shall return you afterwards with no time passed in Christendom. Do you accept?" The Gentleman offered him his familiar copy of Watershippe, opened to a page. 

Mr Norrell thought. He could not see an immediate problem with this, even though he thought he might very well regret it because his ability to think was rapidly decreasing. "I accept your offer, sir."

He saw a spell that he did not recollect seeing before, "On Visiting Unknown Places Yet Returning To Your Own". Well, that seemed reassuring, really. It certainly sounded as if the Gentleman did not really wish to steal him away. He would have liked the time to construe the 'return' part, but the Gentleman was making him read out the spell. As he put the book down on Miss Wintertowne's bedside table, he felt an unnerving sense of space, and realised he was in a hall that seemed (should seem) dark and dirty and ill-maintained, yet it was towering and glowed with unnatural light. Many, many Fairies danced around the floor. But the Gentleman strode ahead, and he could do naught but follow. In the centre of the floor, the Gentleman clapped his hands. "We have a Christian--an English magician--to join our revels!"

There was applause. Mr Norrell said, "But, sir, I do not know how to dance!"

The Gentleman looked down at him and smiled a secret smile. "It is the oldest dance in the world, magician, and it has no steps."

 _He could not mean..._ "Sir!"

"You have consented, magician, and your consent has weight and meaning."

Mr Norrell had no doubt that an assortment of very, very unpleasant things would follow any attempt to escape. Not that he could escape--he had not read the other half of the spell. So he nodded sadly, and the Gentleman gestured until there was a wide space in the middle of the floor and more people watching than dancing. 

The Gentleman gave him a smile with a lot of teeth, and made a show to his fellows of exactly how to undress an Englishman, although he did not quite seem to know how to. Mr Norrell wondered if centuries had passed since he last had occasion to. Wretched with the knowledge that he could have prevented this, if not for his desires, he fumbled with the fastenings, his footwear, coat, waistcoat and shirt, finally the falls and buttons of his breeches, until he knelt naked and sadly diminished on the floor of the brugh. 

The Gentleman touched him all over, and if it were not for those claws on him and those eyes watching him he might have been very much aroused. The long nails brought a visceral distaste from him; if he had only been able to feel the warmth and ductility of fingers smoothing his skin and wrapping round those parts of him that wanted so desperately to be touched, he would have been able to lose himself in the experience. He was only half-hard, and trying to work out whether he should be ashamed he _had_ a response or ashamed it was incomplete. Then the Gentleman put the broad of his hand on Mr Norrell's back, and it was _worse,_ because he could still feel the long nails, but now he could feel _skin,_ and it was like _ice._ He wanted to scream. He had not known how much he wanted the warmth of a man until this had been offered. And he was still somewhat hard, and he knew this was not going to stop until... and he was suddenly shivering, deeply, with utter terror, because what if the end-point was his own pleasure, and he was unable to attain it? What if the Gentleman imprisoned him until he could? What if he never could?

"Oh!" said the Gentleman, "What a rich dish to set before a fairy lord! Sauced with tears..." (Mr Norrell's fingers went swiftly to his eyes) "...and crusted with utter despair. Or perhaps you think I shall show mercy to you and taste it not?" The Gentleman smiled at him, showing many teeth. Then he brought his hand in front of Norrell's face, nudging a finger at his lips. Perhaps graveyard chill was better than claws, he thought, and brought himself to open his mouth and taste. It was, he supposed. A little better. At least it was skin rather than talons. He could not even fantasise about a...better situation, because that hand was so cold, and so present. All he could do was hold to the paper-thin pretence that he was in any way willing. His intelligence, so long his best aid, seemed oppressed by this place so far from the books--the comfort--that helped him think. He could not even really tell whether the Gentleman wanted him willing or quite the reverse. Surely despair was not considered to have an aphrodisiac effect? But that was in the world of men, and he _knew_ Fairies were different. He licked at the side and the palm of the hand, went some way down the fingers, stopped before he could reach the claws. 

"That's better," crooned the Gentleman, and Mr Norrell was now afraid of being taken for willing. He kept opening his eyes and seeing all those other eyes, brightness and darkness and fierce attention. 

The Gentleman came down on the floor beside him, and a chill seemed to blaze from his body as though he were ice, would burn a human who touched. A silly fancy, Mr Norrell told himself sternly, because he knew Fairies were not like that: if they were he would certainly have read of it by now! He braced, and the hand came down on his back again. It had got no better with time. His skin did its best to creep, but now the Gentleman seemed to be holding him so still that he could not manage even that protest. 

He had read a book once on the matter of a man with men. It led him now to think that the hand would reach for his arse, that long-clawed finger would penetrate and prepare him. Surely it would hurt him--would he bleed? The hand managed to part his buttocks without hurting him, although it was severely uncomfortable. 

It was almost worse when the Gentleman lowered his mouth and _licked._ Surely it was impossible. Surely no-one had ever...and they were _all watching_ ... (he could not stop himself opening his eyes and seeing all their fierce gazes fixed on him). Cold or not, the sensation was delicious, startlingly velvety, went to his prick and had him hard, displaying his shame in front of all these...it was difficult to remember they were not people. Surely no-one else had ever... (he got a hand down, hiding and squeezing himself, maybe if he spent very quickly _nobody would notice)._

Then that cold, cold hand came down on his hand as the mouth rose away, and the claws pricked at his skin. It was remarkably like a serpent, or even a spider, touching him with alien and unnatural movement. At least it got rid of the immediate problem (to his amazement; a moment ago he could have sworn he was so eager he'd spend in even that hand, let alone his own hand held by the other's). But the movement from pleasure to fear made him want to cry out, and the limpness of his prick seemed uncomfortably vulnerable. He let go of himself: even the simplest of physical comforts was ruined, unreliable, not-his. If he felt like this alone in the dark, he might very well touch himself for comfort, but in this blaze of unnatural light and cold, under the stare of many pairs of eyes, even that seemed denied to him.

The creature let him go, but did not show anger the way a Christian would if shown revulsion. Instead there was a chuckle in that deep voice, and he understood that it was no more a problem than a misbehaving pet--a puppy making a puddle on the carpet. And that would be what the others saw, as well His reactions were entirely irrelevant: this was going to happen. He understood that his shamed desire fed something in the other, but so did his horror. Perhaps the only thing that _would_ put the creature off would be if he simply enjoyed it the way he would with a man, then it could enjoy frustrating him and sending him home in misery, yet he couldn't do it. All those times in his life when the thought of a man (the stable-boy, when he was young; the Raven King; Childermass) had stolen his concentration! Now when he wanted the idea in his head (whether or not it put the other off, it would comfort him), he could not think of anything but--really this was most unpleasant!--the Gentleman moving against him like something not-human. He had seen mice, and spiders, and snakes, and cats--things that moved rapidly, faster than he could get away. That was how this felt.

"Come here, Madam Blackouzel," said the Gentleman. A woman? Well, that was just... (but could it possibly be any less welcome than everything else?). She knelt down in front of him, and put a cold, cold hand under his jaw. It took him a few moments to realise that her hand was far less clawed, far more like a human hand. "Poor little Christian," she said softly. "My hand has the office of serving our King where his hand is too sharp a blade." And she got up, went behind him, and opened him with oiled fingers, finally using both her hands until he was displayed like a whore for the crowd. His prick was doing its best to retract entirely (shame, a woman, being pitied, the crowd...) but he felt the air touch him where it should not. And despite that, he was oddly grateful that the cruel hand would not make him bleed. Things were bad enough without that. 

Now the Gentleman was behind him, putting his prick ready--and Mr Norrell felt a moment of scandalised, horrified pleasure that a man was nudging at him, going to enter him, before he remembered that a woman was still holding him open in front of a vast crowd of Fairy gentry, and this was certainly not the way he'd ever considered losing his innocence. Not that he'd considered it very often, anyway. When he was awake he had better things to trouble his mind with. 

It hurt quite unreasonably. He had not read much about carnal relations, but surely they would not be so popular if they were this uncomfortable. "Sir, you are fashioned too large! I do not believe I can admit you."

The Gentleman laughed, and said, "I shall plough such a furrow in you that you will be ready to 'admit me' any time this week. And you will be grateful. I am accounted both large and skilled." He had the grace to slow down somewhat, but he kept thrusting. It hurt, and it was cold. It felt like a dagger of cold thrust into his warm depths; he kept thinking of that, kept thinking it might kill him to have that cold hardness struck into him so deep. 

"Please, sir--I cannot!" 

"You can. Or what is the use of you, magician, if you cannot take such a little matter as pleasure?"


	2. A Change of Partners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That was the hurt, here comes the comfort. And Childermass's Healing Cock.

 

"Seems to me there's little enough of _that_ going around!" snapped a very cross--very familiar--human voice. 

Mr Norrell thought he was hearing things in his distress. Things that he did not deserve, like home, like rescue...they did not happen to people like him. Especially when people like him were magicians and there were certainly not any other magicians about (perhaps he should have made his own arrangements for training another to protect himself?). But he opened his eyes, and a flood of sudden relief filled him. 

"Childermass? But you are not a magician!--ouch!" he said, because the Gentleman was certainly not enough like a Christian to regard this as a reason to stop, and kept thrusting. 

Childermass rolled his eyes. "And there you are, when anyone a touch shadow-crafty can look at your books when you leave, and go through what you were trying. I had half a mind not to come here--after all, I thought it was something you wanted to do. Seems as though I was right, sir--you're not doing well."

"I do not need the magician's servant at our revels," said the Gentleman, working away behind. It did not appear to put him off, because he suddenly went at it very hard, and very painfully, and reached his own conclusion. Mr Norrell rather wished he had not, because the Fairy's seed felt cold and sticky and unpleasant in him. He felt dirty, and miserable, and ashamed. 

The Gentleman rose up and set his clothes to rights, leaving Mr Norrell in the state he was in. "Your magician is not only plain, and ugly, but a very unsatisfactory ride. If even my own skills could not rouse him, he is likely incapable. I shall pass him around this hall for the others to try, and then we may keep him somewhere for a while." He looked at Childermass. "I give you leave to lie with him first. Lay your claim to him, to entertain us, and then we will let both of you go free. _If_ you please him." There was a towering, mocking arrogance, and Mr Norrell understood the creature simply could not conceive of a Christian succeeding where he had failed. He wanted to see Norrell and Childermass alike in agonies because they had come so close to being set free, Norrell in shame and fear because he could not fulfil his own desire, Childermass losing the very person he had come here to rescue. 

"Aye? Bloody funny customs you people have," said Childermass, sounding not at all shocked. Had he somehow failed to understand? 

Childermass turned to the Gentleman and said, "Your binding word on it, sir, that you and yours--any of this company--will not interrupt us but allow us to finish in our own way." The Gentleman looked thunderous with rage, but agreed. Mr Norrell was very grateful that his rescuer was Childermass, not only because Childermass pleased him, but because Childermass was a Yorkshireman who knew a thing or two about making things binding. Otherwise, the Gentleman might see if he was enjoying it, and somehow stop him. Childermass had even been sensible enough to specify the others as well. 

Then Childermass got down to him, and leaned close to whisper, "If I'd known you were _that_ desperate, I'd have ridden the arse off you every night. That'd keep you out of trouble." And kissed him on the ear. 

Mr Norrell gave a shocked chuckle. His prick was suddenly very much at attention, at just the thought of having Childermass, and the even naughtier thought of getting as much as he liked. 

"There, you see, sir, that's a nicer thought for you to think on than that cold bastard there," murmured Childermass, slipping a lovely warm hand in front. Fingers teased impertinently at his inner thighs, blessedly blunt-nailed and warm, and the fingertips were _hard_ and _real_ because this was Childermass, whose clever hands were marked by all sorts of very human practical experiences. He wriggled to get just that bit more, wanting the fingers up a bit...

"Steady on, sir," whispered Childermass, with the hint of a laugh, "you know I shouldn't bring you off quite yet. Or don't you think you'd like to have it when I'm in you?"

He went still. _When you put it that way,_ he thought. 

The Gentleman was saying something, and so were the others, but this seemed to be extremely unimportant. 

"Childermass?" he whispered. Childermass leaned over him accommodatingly, and he said, "Could you get me clean? Where he was?" and Childermass bent and kissed his arse, and he said, "yes please!", and then he said, "no."

So Childermass bent over him and said, "Which?" and he said, "I shouldn't make you. Not where he was. It's..." and he muttered something about the Fairy's seed, and it being dirty. He did not think his person was particularly dirty, he being fastidiously cleanly in his habits, but he felt _fouled_ by the unnatural taint of it, and he didn't want it to be unpleasant for Childermass either. 

"Nowt wrong wi' a bit of dirt," said Childermass, and bent to kiss his arse again, and used his tongue in him, just as the Gentleman had, but it was wonderful, exquisite, and he was moaning and open, and _spread out,_ but his mind was empty of all but Childermass. Later, he would be amazed he had forgotten all about the Gentleman, and the other fairies, and the danger, but all he could think of was how wet and delicious that tongue felt stroking into him, and how very much he wanted more. If they got home, and if Childermass didn't mind being put to the trouble, he would like to ask for rather a lot of that. Maybe twice a week, if that wasn't unreasonable. 

When Childermass stopped, he gave a little abandoned sigh, because he wanted more tongue in him.

Childermass bent over him and said, "I'd best get in you properly. Don't want to give them an excuse to say we haven't done the whole thing." He used his hands to pull Mr Norrell's buttocks apart. "That looks about ready for me," he said, nudging a fingertip in. 

"Mm," said Mr Norrell happily. Tongue was very nice, but so was the finger. 

Childermass stopped. His hands went to his breeches and undid them to reveal quite a large and impressive organ. It would not match the Gentleman's in size (which was frankly a relief), but a man's prick hot and hard in him would be just right. He couldn't take his eyes off it until Childermass moved, and bent down to him again and whispered in his ear, "All right?" and he moaned. 

Childermass spat in his hand and did his best to prepare. Then he lay down on Norrell, all rough in his clothes, with his prick just riding the cleft of Mr Norrell's arse without quite going in, and said softly, "I'm sorry for it that I can't grease you properly, but I didn't fancy asking this lot for any favours." and Norrell just said, "Put it in!"

It hurt somewhat--nowhere near enough to put him off--but nothing like what the Fairy had done. Then it was all in him, all welcomed. Hot flesh deep in him took away that bitter inward chill the Fairy had left, stroking at him inside, rubbing a place the Fairy had not touched. He was moving his hips desperately, groaning, and Childermass kept working in him, and...

Childermass bent down to his ear and whispered, "That's it, now, sir. Would you like to spend just this way, spitted on my cock and nothing else to do it?"

He groaned, and remembered he hadn't actually _said_ anything, and (although he had no doubt that if he got sufficiently desperate he _could)_ gasped, "Your hand! Please!"

Childermass kissed him, and said, "As you please, sir," and licked his hand before curling it warmly around Mr Norrell's prick. A bit of teasing and sliding, at first, then Mr Norrell gasped, "Harder!" and Childermass thrust right in at the same time as he _squeezed_ and...everything he had not given the Fairy poured out of him in an ecstatic stream, he was groaning and snarling and _drowning_ in it, and when he finished he was still so lost in the pleasure he was completely unashamed. 

He felt Childermass in him, still hot and hard, and said, "Go on, let me feel you do it," and Childermass grunted and started to push, and again, and again and _now,_ and he felt cleaner for having that in him, warm and natural and human. 

Childermass and he both went down to the floor and slept a bit, exhausted. 

When they woke up they were in a dark little room with no furniture. The door did not open. Mr Norrell said, "I am sorry that I became so involved in events I did not protect us."

Childermass said, "All's not lost yet, sir. If you can make shift to call light without your books."

That being a relatively simple spell, he called up some of the unwholesome and unnatural light that seemed simple here. 

Childermass fumbled under his clothes and brought out a small folded sheet of paper. Mr Norrell looked at the writing, which seemed familiar. It was Watershippe's "Unknown Places".

"Childermass!" he said in outrage, "you have defaced one of my books!"

Childermass smiled his long smile. "You're having problems with your priorities. Sir. More to the point, it has the returning-spell on the reverse."

Mr Norrell hastily turned it round and started struggling to work it out. To his relief, it was not exacting. There was only the incantation and "a token from home", whatever that was. But Childermass had not brought anything with him but the spell. He had even left his pen-knife, which generally went everywhere _oh, of course, cold iron,_ Mr Norrell remembered). He had not brought anything himself. Were they to fall at this last hurdle?

Childermass said, "I think we can do it. Come here," and he whispered in Mr Norrell's ear "'A kiss from a lover'--that's a pretty fair token of home, isn't it? As long as we're careful to think of home and not here."

Mr Norrell, screwing his eyes tight-shut not to think of where they were, kissed Childermass. He put his heart and soul into it, and all the things he found it difficult to say, like how grateful he was to Childermass and how lost he should be without him, and how much he wanted to see Childermass in their familiar home. 

"Well," said Childermass, "that was a very fair example of a kiss from a lover. Let's see what I can do for you." And he kissed Mr Norrell warmly, and tenderly, and as though he wanted both of them to be safe at home together. 

It was a little difficult, because both of them would really rather have been at home at Hurtfew, but they did finally fix London in their heads well enough, and with a sudden lurch they were in Miss Wintertowne's bedroom. 

Unfortunately, so was the Gentleman, who had presumably set a watch against any possible escape. He was showing his teeth in a way that could not be mistaken for a smile. 

He ended up forcing a bargain that they should not have made, although they would not realise the full horror of it immediately. 

Mr Norrell did not know how things would have gone on if it weren't for Childermass, because he had no idea how he would ever have managed to bring himself to tell him if things were otherwise. Every time he threatened to fall into hysterical fear, Childermass would remind him that with his command of the art of magic, and Childermass's practical magic, and Childermass's practical intelligence, they were almost an unstoppable force. 

And then Childermass talked him into taking on a pupil, a Mr Strange, although he might rather have regretted this at first because Mr Norrell appeared to find Mr Strange altogether too fascinating. He seethed about this for a while, then remembered Mr Norrell would probably not have much of a clue, and had to explain it. Mr Norrell admitted that Mr Strange had certain personal charms, but said that he had no intention of making a fool of himself pursuing a pretty young creature when his needs were already so very thoroughly met. Less the jealousy, things went better, and although Mr Strange's spells were not always reliable at first, he had a huge amount of creative ability. With Mr Strange added, they were a _really_ unstoppable force, although Mr Strange had to learn that impetuously bursting into Mr Norrell's house to tell him things at odd hours might result in seeing things he might really rather not see. 

Particularly when it was a Monday or Thursday and Childermass was burying his face between his master's buttocks to the accompaniment of various enthusiastic noises.


End file.
